


Falling In Love (Is Hard On The Knees), Parts N-Z

by yeahbanging (lackapoosy)



Series: Falling In Love (Is Hard On The Knees) [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-28
Updated: 2011-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackapoosy/pseuds/yeahbanging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: Fictional. Not meant to be offensive to anyone. Based on the characters of HBO’s Generation Kill.</p><p>Summary: A series of snapshots, the second part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling In Love (Is Hard On The Knees), Parts N-Z

**Author's Note:**

> All the stories are from the same verse, but they aren't in chronological order. And some of them are a little abstract re: the prompts. Much love and gratitude to the team tinychats, who provided a lot of inspiration. Also to Ree, my partner in shipping, thank you for being Sixta. Betaed by Nic (thanks babe).

**  
Non Sequitur    
**

“Hey Walt. I’m trading you for a Mexican.”

Walt laughed, and then hopped down from his ledge above the humvee, and walked over to Brad and his team, brofisting Garza as they passed. As he climbed up, he could hear Trombley asking about shooting dogs, and Ray ranting at him in response. _Jesus Christ_ , Walt thought to himself. _At least I won’t be bored_.

And he never was. Between the banter, and Reporter or Trombley’s retarded comments, Walt spent a lot of time laughing for someone in a war zone. But it was Ray pontificating about everything under the sun that Walt found especially hilarious, leaping from one subject to the next with no visible link, but Walt supposed they made sense to Ray. Brad could say what he liked, Ray had a way with words, and his slightly skewed world view was something that Walt found particularly charming.

It was after Ray had delivered his uppers-fuelled speech to Reporter about the war really being about NAMBLA, when Ray turned round to look at Walt. He was grinning in a slightly deranged way, wild-eyed. He met Walt’s eyes, and it seemed Ray was looking for his approval. Then he winked exaggeratedly, and returned his attention to the road. Walt felt his heart leap and his stomach turn. He was so fucked.

 

  
**Obstinate**   


Ray was in the supermarket when Walt called. Walt had been hanging out with Trombley for most of the day, because in Ray’s opinion, he was unable to say no. Anyway, apparently Trombley’s cat had disappeared under the porch, and was refusing to come out. Walt and Trombley had tried calling her, as well as attempting to lure her out by placing treats in strategic places.

Ray drove over, and was met at the gate by a frantic Trombley.

“Ray! Thanks for coming, man. We’ve tried everything and she just won’t come out.”

“S’alright, homes. The master is here, now show me where the problem is.” They walked through the house and into the garden. The three men knelt down on the grass, and peered underneath the porch. They could see the cat’s eyes reflecting about a metre and a half in.

“Right,” Ray said, straightening up. “Bring me all the cat toys you have.” Trombley went into the house, and returned with a box overflowing with every kind of toy imaginable. Ray looked at Walt, one eyebrow quirking up. Walt grinned back. Ray rifled through the box, and selected a fluffy mouse attached to a long string. He knelt back down, and waved it as close to the cat as he could, calling encouragements. Twenty minutes later, and the cat was still refusing to budge.

“Fuck this,” Walt had apparently had enough. “I’m goin’ in.” He lowered himself onto the grass, and started to crawl under the porch, commando-style. Ray can hear Walt muttering to himself.

“Fuck! Trombley, there’s broken glass under here!” Walt yells. “What the fuck?” There is a thud, Walt grunts, and then the cat shoots out into the garden, where Trombley scoops her up.

“Emmie, calm down!” Trombley coos at the cat, in what he imagines is a soothing voice. “It’s ok, Daddy’s gotcha.”

“Emmie?” Walt and Ray say in unison.

“Yes,” said Trombley defensively. “It’s short for M-16.” He went to lock Emmie in the house, and Ray turned to Walt.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You’re bleeding all over the place.” He took Walt’s hand and started towards the house to fetch the first aid kit.

“Ray, I’m fine. Just a few scratches, no need to make a fuss.”

“You know what you and that fucking cat have in common, Walt? You’re both stubborn assholes. Come on, let Ray-Ray kiss it better.”

 

 **  
Posterity    
**

Walt was sitting at his desk answering his emails when Ray got home. Despite his recon training, Ray never bothered to be quiet unless he deemed it totally necessary, and Walt could hear him before he’d even got his key in the lock.

“Good day?” Walt called out when he heard the door slam. Ray entered the living room, and dumped his bag next to the coffee table. He stood behind Walt and circled his arms around Walt’s shoulders.

“Yeah, got myself a new tattoo.”

“Another one? Where is it?” Walt asked, craning round to look at Ray. Scanning his eyes over his, he guessed he could rule out the face. Ray kissed his ear.

“On my ass.”

“Really?”

“No, you retard. I’m saving that space for when Tim Gutterson asks me to marry him.” Ray straightened up, laughing. “No, it’s here, have a look.” He took off his jacket and shirt to reveal two bandages taped over his hipbones. Walt peered through the protective covering, trying to make out what he was looking at. Gently shifting the plastic, Walt could see two abstract patterns, swirls of black, almost identical but for the tiny initials off to one side, where Ray’s skin had been left unmarked. One ‘R’, and one ‘W’. They were in the exact place that Walt’s thumbs rested when he gripped Ray’s hips. Walt ran his hands around Ray and rested them on his ass. He laid his head on Ray’s bare chest, pressing his face into Ray’s skin.

“They’re beautiful Ray,” Walt said, his voice thick. “I love them.”

“I thought you would,” Ray said, running his fingers through Walt’s hair. He tilted Walt’s head up so he could look him in the eye. “Besides, gotta record this shit for posterity, homes.” Ray added, gesturing between them.

 

 **  
Quest    
**

Road trips were a necessary venture for all couples, or so Ray said. Apparently, you had to spend hour after hour in a car arguing over directions, music and rest stops in order to ‘really get to know each other’.

“Ray, did you miss the part where we were in each other’s company twenty four seven for weeks as we drove across the Iraqi desert? Because I definitely remember that happening.” Walt said sarcastically, when Ray pitched the idea to him. “How is your 'road trip' idea any different from that?”

“Uh, we probably won't get shot at by Hajis? Brad won't bitch when we play country? Come on Walt, indulge your favourite boyfriend Ray-Ray. This time we can stop for ice cream or sex whenever we want! We were definitely missing that part in Iraq.” Ray gave Walt a pleading look, complete with puppy eyes. Walt really regretted showing weakness regarding that particular trait of Ray’s. “Please? I’ve never been to New Orleans, and it’s Mardi Gras, it will be so much fun and you know it.”

“Fine.” Walt grudgingly agreed. “But you are letting me drive at least thirty percent of the time, and I get to pick half the music.”

“Yes!" Ray untangled himself from Walt, and leapt up off the sofa. "Oh, you are not gonna regret this, Walt baby. I’m gonna start making lists!” Ray planted a wet kiss on Walt’s nose, and bounded off in search of paper.

Ray’s excitement was contagious, it seemed, and by the time their trip rolled around, Walt was actually quite excited. They loaded their bags into the back of Ray’s truck, and the huge crate of food Ray had deemed essential into the back seat.

“Come on, hot lips.” Ray said, reaching out to land a smack on Walt’s ass as he walked round to the passenger door. “This is gonna be totally awesome.”

 

  
**Rest**   


The move from California to New York was a joint decision. Ray had been offered a job at an advertising firm out there, and so Walt had put in for a transfer. They had spent some time there looking for an apartment, and had finally made their pick. Ray had vetoed any sort of ‘gay-ass hipster loft in Brooklyn or wherever’, so naturally that was what they had ended up with.

They rented a van and drove across the country with their stuff, rather than have it shipped. This wasn’t a problem until they pulled up outside their new home and remembered that they were on the third floor, and there wasn’t a lift.

“Remind me again why we decided against getting removal guys to help us?” Ray asked, looking up at their building with a grimace.

“We? We nothing, Ray. You said that removal guys are a waste of money and that they steal all your shit when you’re not looking. Besides, Rudy will be here in like, twenty minutes.” Walt replied.

Rudy, who was in town for a few weeks, had agreed to help them move once they arrived, and with his help stuff was actually getting upstairs relatively quickly. They took him out for dinner to say thanks, and then wandered back through the night to their apartment. Once inside, Ray flopped down on the bare mattress, and gestured for Walt to join him.

“Ray, we should really put some sheets on the bed before we…” Walt stopped, looking down at Ray. He looked so peaceful, lying on his side with his eyes closed.

“Shhh, Walt. Sleeping. Now get your ass over here and spoon me, you adorable hick.”

Walt grinned to himself, and as he lowered himself onto the mattress and slid his arm around Ray’s waist, he had never felt happier.

 

 **  
Suffuse    
**

One of Ray’s favourite things is that warm, exhausted type of happiness that comes after sex.

He loves lying with Walt, the two of them tangled up in each other and the sheets, spending time just being.

He loves it when Walt pulls him close after, not caring how hot and sweaty and sticky they are, and rests their foreheads together, close enough to share breath.

He loves it when each of his senses is filled by Walt, when the smell of sex pervades the room, and when Walt is all he can see and touch and hear and taste.

He knows that he hasn’t really experienced this feeling with anyone else, and so he thinks that he loves all of these things because he just loves Walt.

 

  
**Transient**   


Getting Ray to shut up was difficult, Walt knew this from Iraq. But trying to make him be quiet back in California, when he’d had several people’s fair share of drinks, was downright impossible.

“Seasons may chaaaaaange, winter to spring” Ray leapt up on the sofa, belting out the timeless classic from Moulin Rouge with his arms spread wide. He stumbled, recovered, and pointed at Walt. “But I love you. Until the end of tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime!”

He jumped down, tripping again, and barrelled into Walt’s arms. He laid trail of sloppy kisses along Walt’s neck. “COME WHAT MAAAAAAY” Ray continued, leaning back and letting go of Walt, who was all but holding him up at this point.

“Ray, you should probably try and keep it down. You’re going to wake the neighbours!” Walt said, struggling to keep Ray upright. Ray was squirming around, and could not be stopped for love nor money, it seemed. Walt held him, waiting patiently for him to finish, and then helped him undress, and get into bed.

“You know, I didn’t have you pegged as a guy who’d be into musical theatre” Walt said, stroking Ray’s back. Ray looked at him in amazement.

“How can anyone not love Moulin Rouge? The music is superb, and don’t even get me started on the cinematography. I think Luhrmann’s a genius, and I don’t care who knows it.” He slumps back down, and nuzzles into the pillow. “God, I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. I’m bringing it to the top of our movie night schedule. It will rip your fuckin’ heart out and eat it for dinner.” And rant over, Ray fell asleep, snoring gently as Walt tucked himself in behind him.

 

  
**Unabashedly**   


It wasn’t that Walt was shy or self-conscious about his body, but he didn’t tend to show it off all the time. He left the parading about naked to Ray. Get him tipsy, though, and it was a different story.

Ray was driving them home from a party at QTip’s when Walt started to complain that his jumper was itchy, and he was too hot anyway. So that was the first item of clothing to go, and by the time Ray had got him into the house, he was down to just his jeans. His boots and socks had been thrown into the flowerbeds, despite Ray’s protests.

“Maybe you should have a glass of water” Ray said hesitantly, trying to steer Walt into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and went over to the sink. Ray could have sworn he was turned around for five seconds, tops, but when he turned back to Walt to give him his water, everything had gone. Walt was standing by the counter, totally naked, squinting at the clock on the microwave. When he noticed that Ray was staring, his eyes lit up and a small smile played on his lips.

“Hey there, loverboy. Want a piece?” Walt asked, twirling on the spot. Ray’s mouth dropped open. “I’ll take that as a yes. You coming?” And with that, he sauntered off towards Ray’s bedroom, leaving Ray staring after him, wide-eyed and mouth agape. 

 

 **  
Vestige    
**

“Waaaaaalt. I’m cold.” Ray complained, bringing his legs up to wrap his arms around them. “Can I borrow a hoodie?”

“Sure,” Walt yelled from the kitchen. “They’re in the drawer below the closet. Should be on the left.”

“Thanks, sugar tits.” Ray lifted himself up off the sofa, and walked down the hall to Walt’s bedroom. He tripped over his own shoes as he entered the room, but he supposed he had no-one to blame but himself for that one. He knelt down, and pulled out a blue hoodie from the pile. Putting it on, Ray inhaled, surrounded by scent of Walt. He smiled to himself. Ray had made a mess of the pile, so he tried his best to right it, and he noticed a shoebox half tucked under Walt’s clothes.

Ray grimaced. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to leave it alone, but being Ray, he couldn’t not look inside. Ray pulled the box into his knees, and removed the lid. It was filled with photos, ticket stubs, old letters, and other tokens from previous relationships. Ray’s stomach dropped. He picked up the top photograph, one of Walt and a nameless redhead. They were smiling at the camera, arms wrapped round each other, and it looked like they were in a fucking meadow. He put the box down on the floor with shaking hands, heart pounding in his chest. He heard Walt walk up behind him.

“Ray, what the fuck are you doing?” Walt asked, picking everything up and closing the box. He stood in front of Ray, and waited for him to answer.

“I don’t know. I was looking for a sweater. I didn’t mean-” Ray began, staring blankly at the floor.

“You didn’t mean to open the box that was at the back of my drawer, under a pile of clothes?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t resist a closed door, box, whatever. I totally regret it, if that helps.” Ray looked up at Walt with misery in his eyes. Walt took in the way Ray was sitting dejectedly on the floor, and understood.

“Ray,” he said quietly. “This,” he shook the box “is not what I want. The only person I want is sitting on my bedroom floor, getting worked up over nothing. You’re the one in here, Ray. You’re not in a box in the cupboard.” Ray squinted up at Walt, who was holding out his hand to haul Ray to his feet.

“Come here, you fucked up retard.” Walt said, pulling Ray in for a hug, and kissing his forehead.

 

  
**Woo**   


Life after the Marines was always a little hectic, but Thursdays were always super busy in the Hasser-Person household. Ray had college and then work until half eight, and Walt would get in after ten, more often than not. Walking up the path, Ray rolled his shoulders, attempting to dispel the ache that had been building up during the day. He pushed his key into the lock, and pushed the door open. The lights were on in the kitchen. _Unusual_ , Ray thought. He put his bag down in the hall, and rounded the corner to find Walt in there, dividing food between two dishes. He took in the table, which was set for two with honest-to-god candles, and raised his eyebrows.

“Dude, what the fuck is this? He asked with a small chuckle.

“It’s date night!” Walt replied. The earnest grin on his face made Ray’s heart leap. Walt took out some garlic bread from the oven, kicked the door shut, and put the plates on the table. It was spaghetti with meatballs, Ray’s favourite. Skirting the table, Walt grabbed Ray’s elbows, pulling him in for a kiss hello. Breaking the kiss, Walt leans his forehead against Ray’s.

“We’re gonna have to eat before dinner gets cold. Come on.”

“How did you manage to get all this done?” Ray asks, pulling out his chair. Walt shrugged.

“I did extra hours earlier in the week.” They sat down, and Walt poured Ray a glass of wine. They dug into the food, and swapped stories about their days. After they finished, Walt whipped the plates away, only to replace them with two generous portions of brownies and ice cream. The brownies were still gooey in the middle, just the way Ray liked them. Ray leaned back in his chair when he was done, and groaned in appreciation.

“Dude, that was the best meal I have eaten in literally months.” He leered over all Walt. “But don’t worry baby, I’m a sure thing.” Walt sighed, and put on bitchface #3.

“That’s not what this was about, Ray” He swept out of his chair, and collected the dishes, putting them in the sink to soak. Ray gave him a confused look.

“What? Who puts that much effort into cooking unless they're trying to get laid?” The bitchface was still firmly in place.

“Jesus Christ, Ray. It was about us being able to spend some quality time together.” Ray burst out laughing.

“You were trying to like, woo me?”

Walt slammed his hands down on the table. “Why is that so fucking funny? You’re always bitching that school and work takes up too much time and that we hardly even have time for a quick blowjob in the shower any more and so I thought I’d cook you a nice meal so we could hang out and you’re laughing at me. Well fuck you, motherfucker.” He glared at Ray, pouting.

Ray go up and wrapped his arms around Walt. “Walt, Walt. Look at me. I’m sorry. I love that you did this. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. Come here.”

Walt melted into Ray's arms, and whispered in his ear. “Apology accepted.” Walt turns his head, and nips Ray’s earlobe before sucking it into his mouth. “But after all the trouble I’ve gone to, you had better fucking put out.”

 

  
**X**   


It’s the mundane, everyday things that Walt really loves about being with Ray. Settling into their lives as civilians after they got back from Iraq meant settling into a new relationship, and as neither of them had been career military to start with, they had both seen each other as another reason to leave the Corps. After they were discharged and got all of the paperwork out of the way, they had set about organising the things they needed for their new start – getting apartments, jobs, and cellphones.

Several weeks back into normality and Walt still found it a novelty when his phone buzzed with a text from Ray. The first text he’d ever got had said ‘mine for dinner and fight club? bring beer and your dick xx’. Seeing those kisses at the end of the text had made Walt’s stomach somersault, and he had walked around for the rest of the day with a huge grin on his face. It had remained there until he got to Ray’s, who had answered the door, grabbed the beer, and proceeded to kiss the smile from Walt’s face.

 

  
**Yell**   


The trip to the ER was all Ray’s fault. He had insisted after a few drinks that, in fact, the trouser-removal part of a striptease was not that difficult, and he had proved himself wrong, as usual. To his credit, the fall from the coffee table to the floor had been spectacularly hilarious, and he had managed to get his trousers off.

Unfortunately, the way he’d hit the floor meant that he now had a dislocated shoulder and what was probably a fractured wrist. Walt foolishly thought that the combination of alcohol and you know, recon marine would mean that Ray would be able to cope with the pain, and therefore they would be able to make this particular trip a quick one. When the doctor called them into one of the side rooms, he informed Ray that when they popped his shoulder, he was going to have to give him a local anaesthetic due to his wrist injuries. Ray agreed to this with a manly snuffle, and Walt rubbed his back in sympathy.

What Walt was not prepared for, however, was Ray’s reaction to the needle that held the anaesthetic. He doubted anyone could have been prepared for that.

“JESUS CHRIST ON A FUCKING CROSS, YOU AREN’T STICKING THAT IN ME!” Ray shuffled backwards on the bed, legs out in front of him to form his defence. The doctor looked from Ray to Walt, his eyes wide, wordlessly asking for help.

“Ray, come on. You need to have the injection so you can be fixed and we can go home. Get a grip, please.”

“Are you kidding me? Look at that thing, Walt. LOOK AT IT. It’s bigger that Brad’s fuckin’ dick, there is no way it’s coming anywhere near me! Be reasonable!” Ray continued at the top of his voice. Walt was acutely aware that the chatter in the waiting room had stopped, everyone listening in on the scene that Ray was making. He sighed, and kissed the side of Ray’s head, trying to calm Ray down enough for the doctor to do his job. Judging by the way Ray was still protesting, it was gonna be a while.

 

  
**Zodiac**   


During his stay with Ray and Walt in New York, Brad steps out for a while to visit a few specialist electronics stores. When he gets back to their apartment, several hours later than planned, Ray is lying on the sofa with his laptop balanced on his stomach. Empty beer bottles are lined up neatly on the coffee table.

“Hey man, get everything you needed?” Ray asks, eyes not straying from the screen in front of him.

“Mostly. There are some parts I’m waiting on that will allegedly be in stock tomorrow, so I’ll go back in a few days. Some sort of obscure farmyard porn, I assume?” Brad says, gesturing to the laptop.

“Nope, got through all of that before you got back. I was just checking the news when one thing led to another and now I’m looking up me and Walt’s compatibility on one of those horoscope websites.” Brad shoots Ray an incredulous look, and arranges himself in the leather armchair by the window.

“Ray, please tell me you don’t believe in that shit. You are aware that the concept of the position of the stars at the time of someone’s birth affecting their personality and habits is total bullshit, aren’t you?”

Ray breathes out loudly, and his face shifts into the oft-worn expression that he reserves for delivering his speeches. “That is exactly the sort of attitude I would expect from you, Bradley. You are all science and no magic. If I want to believe that my charming, corn-fed boyfriend and I are cosmically destined to be then I will be damned if I let your Rain Man-status attachment to logic and shit get in my way.”

Shaking his head, Brad heads into the kitchen in an attempt to head Ray’s rant off at the pass, and to get himself a drink. As he twists the top off the bottle, Ray’s voice drifts in from the living room.

“Besides, it says right here, Libra and Gemini. This Madame Jemima gives us four thumbs up in the compatibility section, and she looks like she knows her stuff, Brad, she really does.”

“Shut up, Ray.” Brad says, and takes several large gulps of his beer.

Undeterred by Brad’s bad attitude, Ray continues to read aloud from the website. “One of the best matches for the Gemini - that’s me - the Libra is an air sign like the Gemini and they are both full of ideas and dreams. Blah blah, perfectly matched in every way, blah. Ah ha! It is easy for these two to become good friends and things will work out even better as a wedded couple.” Ray falls silent, and Brad waits for him to continue, to tell him what an anal retentive retard he is for not believing in Ray and Walt’s Cosmic Love. When he doesn’t, Brad wanders back into the living room and leans against the door frame. Ray is where Brad left him, only now he is staring at the screen without really looking at it, biting his lip. He senses Brad come back into the room and meets his eye, one eyebrow raised.

“Huh. Maybe I should ask him. That shit’s legal here now, right?”


End file.
